The realization stuck in her head and urged her to lean forward, to trail the tip of her tongue down the side of his neck and relish the salty-sweetness of his skin…
She eased forward just an inch, her lips so close to his tempting skin.
Close, but not quite there.
Not yet.
Not ever.
Temptation pushed and pulled inside of her, threatening her fragile control. By the time he pulled up in front of her boutique, it was all she could do to pull away from him, climb off the bike and walk to the door. She could feel his gaze burning into her, but she didn’t look back, not even to ask about another lesson.
Especially not to ask about another lesson.
She’d barely survived tonight with her dignity intact. The last thing she wanted to think about was facing the temptation all over again. No, she would have to come up with a different plan. The carnal classes would eventually pay off and she would have men crawling all over her. And she would make Tilly’s list. She would just have to be patient until then and make due with her Twinkies and her fantasies.
“Tomorrow night,” she heard his voice behind her as she slid her key into the lock. “I’ll pick you up here.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think—” she started to respond, but then the engine growled, drowning out the rest of her refusal. She turned in time to see him take off down the street.
A few minutes later, Meg climbed into her own car, headed home and tried to come up with several convincing reasons to cancel.
No way was she meeting Dillon Cash tomorrow night.
She would play sick, she decided as she pulled into her driveway, climbed out of her car and headed inside the house. Maybe a rash. A fever. Maybe even some heavy-duty vomiting. Something really icky and contagious. Something that would have her lying on the floor, limp and lifeless—
Her thoughts skidded to a halt, along with her feet when she reached the kitchen doorway and spied the pile of fur that lay on the floor amid the remains of the three boxes of snack cakes Meg had picked up at the store earlier that day.
Babe was on her side, pieces of cardboard and cellophane littering the floor near her head. Crumbs clung to her whiskers, along with the scent of sugar and vanilla.
“Don’t tell me you ate them all?”
The animal lifted her head and whimpered.
She’d eaten them all.
“Glutton.” Meg dropped to her knees and stroked the animal’s head. “I know it hurts, but I promise you’ll live.” But a few more whimpers and she wasn’t so sure. She knew Twinkies couldn’t hurt the dog.
One Twinkie.
Maybe even two.
But three dozen? Along with shreds of the plastic wrappers?
“It’s okay,” she murmured, gathering the large dog close.
The memories stirred and she found herself back home in the cabin where she’d grown up. She sat in the middle of the kitchen floor, a small puppy in her arms, the police officer who’d delivered the news of her father’s accident standing awkwardly by as he waited for her grandparents to arrive.
Meg shook away the images and fought the sudden fear that gripped her.
A few minutes later, she loaded Babe into the backseat of her car, climbed behind the wheel and headed for the nearest twenty-four-hour animal clinic.
12
SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.
Dillon skidded to a stop in the parking lot of Skull Creek Choppers and killed the engine. Climbing off the bike, he stomped to the back door, his body stiff and tight. His gut clenched and unclenched as he shoved the key into the lock and threw open the door.
Inside, he bypassed the office and strode into the manufacturing shop. It was still early in the evening—barely 10:00 p.m.—and so the place was empty. Garret was out with whatever woman he’d taken a fancy to and Jake was with Nikki. Both vampires were no doubt drinking their fill in more ways than one.
A pang of hunger gripped him. His hands trembled, his muscles flexed and his jaw clenched. As worked up as he was, he wasn’t about to try to park himself behind a desk and worry about his blog or his leads or even the Ancient One himself.
He needed to do something.
Hitting the power button, he fired up the high-tech computer terminal that he’d set up near the main tool table. The screen flickered to life and a 3-D image of a custom-made chopper appeared.
Dillon had entered the specifics for Garret’s next order and the end result was the beauty on the monitor. His gaze shifted to the worktable and the simple frame that would eventually transform into the chopper.
Punching up several measurements, he surveyed the spreadsheet that scrolled across the screen. Following the details, he powered on the ARC welder and turned his attention to the hulk of metal that would soon be the custom-made fuel tank.
He spent the next few minutes working on the piece and trying not to think about Meg.
She was scared, all right. But it wasn’t of heights.
She was scared of falling in love, of being in love.
With him.
And the problem is?
He had her right where he wanted her. If he tempted and teased her just a little more, he had no doubt she would make the first move. And the second. And the third.
She would offer herself up to him completely and he would get what he wanted—the chance to break Bobby’s record and be remembered, not as the ultimate geek, but as the most legendary lover in town.
If.
Wait a second, there was no if. It was all about when.
Tomorrow night.
As for her fear of falling in love with him…He simply had to be reading her wrong. When she looked at him, she felt lust. Because of her past, she was afraid to act on that lust, afraid to perpetuate her own reputation.
Lust.
That’s all she felt for him and all he felt for her. So he’d obviously been hallucinating. Since turning, he hadn’t gone a full twenty-four hours without sex. He was going on seventy-two and lack of sustenance was making him punchy.
He needed to feed.
Tonight.
Now.
The thought struck as he saw a flash of lights through the window. He glanced up in time to see Meg’s car haul ass past the shop.
Urgency spiraled through him, a feeling that had nothing to do with his own damned hunger and everything to do with the woman he’d just glimpsed. Her tear-streaked face. Her fear-filled eyes.
Something was wrong.
So? It doesn’t matter. All you feel is lust, remember?
But it wasn’t. They were friends, too.
Friends first.
And so Dillon did what any friend would do. He climbed on his motorcycle and hauled ass after her.
MEG FORCED HERSELF TO let go and handed Babe over to the night staff at Junction Animal Hospital. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest and her throat tightened as she watched her dog disappear through the double doors leading to the emergency exam room.
“You can have a seat.” The woman behind the desk motioned Meg over to a small cluster of chairs, most of the seats already overflowing with worried pet owners. “It’s a full moon, so we’ve had a busy night. Mr. McKinley’s Jack Russell’s got into a fight with a porcupine. Stu Morehead’s rabbit, Fluffy, got her paw caught in some chicken wire. Jimmy Carmichael’s prize-winning Arabian broke his leg near a gulley out by Old Sam’s Creek and Agnes Carmichael’s Great Dane ate one of her slippers.” The woman smiled. “Just relax and help yourself to some complimentary coffee. This might take awhile.”
Meg walked over to an empty chair, but a full thirty seconds later she was on her feet again. She paced a small area off to the side, in front of the coffee machine, and tried to fight the worry mounting inside of her. The scent of disinfectant filled her nostrils and dread settled in the pit of her stomach.
She had to be okay.
“She will be.” Dillon’s deep voice slid into Meg’s ears a split second before she felt his strong, wa
rm hand on her shoulder.
His presence seemed to wrap around her. The scent of warm male tinged her nostrils and an inexplicable wildness filled her head, chasing away the sharp odor of Lysol and animal fur that hung heavy in the air. She glanced up and her gaze met his. His green eyes gleamed with a certainty that eased her frantic heart beat. A strange sense of peace stole through her, pushing aside her worry and fear.
“She’ll be okay,” he said again as if he knew she needed his reassurance more than she needed her next breath.
And for the first time since leaving the house, Meg started to think that he just might be right.
“BASICALLY, SHE JUST ATE too much,” Doc Jamison told Meg an hour later.
They stood in the doorway of one of the exam rooms. Inside, Babe lay on a large steel table. Dillon stood next to the animal and stroked her soft fur. Babe’s leg gave an excited shake and relief swamped Meg.
“She has a bad case of indigestion,” the vet went on. “A very bad case what with all the plastic she ingested on top of the sugar.”
“But she’s going to be okay, right? You’ll give her some Tums and send her home.”
“More than settling her stomach, we want to get her to pass everything, so she has a busy night ahead. You’ll have to watch her, too, and keep her out of the pantry tonight. Otherwise, I might have to pump her stomach. That’s as painful for dogs as it is for humans.”
Meg nodded. “No more Twinkies.”
“Or anything that isn’t on this list.” He handed over a neatly typed list of appropriate foods, along with at-home care instructions. “Don’t give her anything tonight, but once she passes everything, she’ll need nourishment. Namely, plenty of protein. I’m also going to give her a little something to ease the cramps. If you follow Shirley, there—” the vet motioned to the woman next to him who’d been sitting at the front desk “—she’ll get you all taken care of.”
Meg left Babe with Dillon and followed Shirley back through the double doors and out to the front desk. Five minutes later, she had a full bottle of pain pills along with a bottle of powdered fiber that she was supposed to mix and feed to Babe once they got home.
Meg took a deep breath as the news sank in. Indigestion. Not a heart attack or a stroke or any of the other horrible things she’d imagined might result from sponge cake overload.
“She’s going to be okay.”
Dillon’s deep, reassuring words echoed in her head a split second before he appeared next to her, Babe cradled in his arms.
“I think she’s starting to feel better,” he murmured, nuzzling the dog.
Babe rewarded him with a lick on the cheek and Meg realized that Babe was just as susceptible to him as every other female in Skull Creek.
Every female, that is, except Meg herself.
The knowledge should have been comforting—she was standing strong, holding her own, waiting to be ravished rather than making a fool of herself and acting on her own one-sided lust. Instead, she couldn’t help but feel as if she was missing out on the chance of a lifetime.
His deep voice pushed into her thoughts. “Ready?”
In more ways than one, she realized as she followed him out to her car and watched him load Babe into the backseat. He gave the animal another affectionate scrub behind her ears and Babe’s tail twitched. She liked Dillon, and so did Meg. And she was ready, all right, to head home, to give in, to let go.
The notion stuck in her head and warred with her determination as she made the drive back to her place, Dillon following on his motorcycle. Once they pulled up in her driveway, he gathered Babe from the car and toted her inside.
A few minutes later, Meg watched him lay the animal on a batch of fluffy quilts that she’d pulled from the closet, and suddenly she wasn’t half as scared to make the first move with him as she was not to make the first move.
To feel his arms around her and his lips eating at hers and his body so deep she didn’t know where he ended and she began.
To lose herself in the sweet heat she’d been fighting since she’d come face-to-face with the new and improved Dillon Cash just a few days ago.
And backslide into Manhandler Meg?
The question struck, reminding her of the past and her own reputation, and the all-important fact that she was still desperate to erase both.
Throwing herself at Dillon Cash would accomplish nothing.
At the same time, it was the one thing she wanted most at the moment. The only thing.
She busied herself for the next few minutes giving Babe her medication and getting her settled for the night. With each movement, she felt Dillon’s gaze and while the tension between them was thick, there was something oddly comforting about having him there. She didn’t feel so alone.
He’d been her friend back when she’d needed one most. And he’d been her friend tonight when she’d needed one most.
All the more reason to resist the crazy thoughts racing through her head.
“I should be going,” he said.
Let him, her conscience urged. Otherwise you’ll regret it tomorrow.
“Thanks for showing up at the animal hospital.” She started for the front door.
“That’s what friends are for.” He followed behind her, so close she could feel the warmth of his body, the tightness of his muscles, the rush of his breath ruffling the hair on her head. Her skin prickled and her nipples throbbed and she felt the moisture between her legs. Her memory stirred and his voice echoed, so clear and distinct, it seemed he whispered them at that particular moment.
A woman who trusts herself, who listens to her body and lets it guide her, is the ultimate in sexy.
She turned on him. Their gazes collided. Surprise registered on his face as her hands went to the bottom of her blouse. Before she could breathe, let alone give in to the insecurity whirling inside of her, she whisked the material up and over her head.
By the time her gaze met his again, his eyes had fired to a fierce, glittering green. She felt a niggle of apprehension because as right as everything was, it wasn’t. There was something different about him. Something that went beyond his sexy appearance and newfound confidence. Something dark and dangerous.
The notion struck as he stared at her, into her, but then his gaze dropped to her breasts and she forgot everything except the desire swamping her.
Lifting her hands, she worked at the bra clasp until it snapped and popped. The cups fell away and the scrap of lingerie landed at her feet. Her skirt soon slouched in a heap around her ankles and she stood before him wearing nothing but a pink thong. She hooked her thumbs at the waistband, slid the satin down her legs and stepped free. Just like that she was completely naked.
She felt a moment’s hesitation as she stood there, but then he murmured, “You’re so damned beautiful,” and it was all the encouragement she needed.
Closing the distance between them, she reached for the hem of his T-shirt. He lifted his arms, letting her pull the cotton up and over his head. Where she’d seen him bare-chested back at the motel a few days ago, the sight of him now was a hundred times better.
Muscles carved his torso, from his bulging biceps and shoulders to the rippled plane of his abdomen. Gold, silky hair sprinkled his chest, narrowing to a tiny whorl of silk that disappeared beneath the waistband of his jeans.
She meant to slow down, to at least let him do something, but she couldn’t help herself. She reached out and pressed her palm against his chest, feeling the hair tickle her skin. She followed the golden path lower until it stopped at his waistband.
He balled his hands into fists at his sides, as if it took everything he had not to cover her hand with his and urge her lower, wanting her to take the lead.
And where she would have stood her ground and tried to hold back a few moments ago, she’d already waved the white flag and given up.
She’d lost the battle with her own damned lust.
Oddly enough, she felt more like a winner than a loser as she dropped
to her knees in front of him and reached for the waistband of his pants. The zipper hissed and he sprang hot and eager into her hands. She trailed her fingers over him, tracing the bulging veins until she reached the ripe, plump head of his penis. He stiffened and a drop of pearly liquid beaded at the tip. She leaned forward, closed her lips around the smooth ridge and lapped at his essence with her tongue for a long sweet moment before she felt his hands on her shoulders.
“Don’t.”
Her gaze met his and where she expected him to look victorious, instead he looked more startled.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” The word was raw and thick. He shook his head and the strange look faded into one of hungry determination. He pulled her to her feet and his mouth claimed hers in a deep, thorough kiss that took her breath away.
Dillon plunged his tongue deep, tangling with hers as he tried to understand what the hell had just happened to him.
Or rather, what had almost happened.
One draw of her sweet mouth on his cock and he’d been ready to explode. Just like that. Like some wet-behind-the-ears virgin. Like the town geek experiencing his first blow job.
The thing was, it wasn’t his first and he certainly wasn’t a virgin. And he sure as hell wasn’t a geek, no matter how much a tiny voice inside of him screamed otherwise.
He was a vampire who thrived on sex.
He didn’t get off until the woman got off. It was her climax—the sweet, dizzying energy—that seeped into him, stirred his hunger and sent him over the edge.
Not this time.
Not with Meg.
Because she’s the ultimate challenge.
The explanation whispered through his head, easing the anxiety that rushed through him. This was his moment of truth, and so it made sense that he would be a little out of sorts. On top of that, he was hungry.
So damned hungry.
He fought against the urge to push her up against the nearest wall and bury himself inside of her. Instead, he eased the pressure of his mouth and shifted the kiss from fast and furious to slow and wicked and thorough.
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